Too Close for Comfort
by NotEnoughTimeOnMyHands
Summary: My story of the hiatus, beginning immediately after the season finale. This little one shot follows Red and Liz as they move forward and then closer. *COMPLETE*


**A/N** Hello! I've not had many ideas for writing of late but I continue to avidly read The Blacklist stories. It's nice to have something to contribute again. Maybe the new female character will spawn some new ideas for me but then I ship me and Red so maybe not ;-)

Story wise I suppose I'm imagining there will be a bit of down time, a lying low. Cooper must still be in hospital/recovering so it seems feasible (to me) that there would be a slow down for everyone in the task force. This is introspective in parts and mostly small and domestic. Here's what I think could happen during that time.

Too Close for Comfort

Elizabeth Keen didn't mean for it to happen. It wasn't what she intended when she packed a bag, it wasn't what she considered when she cast a departing eye around her martial home, nor when she sat in the taxi, directing the driver towards the man who was beginning to feel like something akin to her magnetic north. But fuelled by a now familiar uncertainty and the understandable paranoia surrounding Berlin, she'd somehow begun living with Raymond Reddington.

It began out of necessity as unexpected things often do. Liz had no wish to return home, while common sense and security suggested she find a new abode. With Red ready to move they took the first step together and as the sun set on that first day she found herself still with him and hesitant to depart.

The first few days were quiet, almost restrained. Though Red always had a casual, comfortable air about him, they both seemed introspective regarding the threats they faced and the losses they had suffered. There were short, hushed conversation about insignificant domestic matters; Red ensuring she ate, drank and slept well. Was she warm enough? Was she comfortable in her room? Did she need him to carry her bag or fetch another pillow? It should have been annoying but it wasn't. It was a comfort to be cared for, to feel that she was cherished, even if she still didn't know why.

And so they live together and move together and slowly get used to the company and the habits of the other. They are never completely alone; Dembe is there and they have regular contact with the FBI, yet still it feels mostly like their existence shrinks to a universe of two.

When Liz looks back she thinks on how many times she meant to depart, how she meant to break away, book a hotel, rent an apartment, but she somehow could never bring herself to make that first step.

Ten weeks later they are firmly in a routine. They move regularly and Liz tries to be ready. Red does the organising and she can do nothing but go along, so she tries to be prepared, to be accommodating wherever they find themselves. Red does the cooking or sometimes they order take out or occasionally they eat out. She tries not to feel guilty about how little she actually is doing. It's this notion of contribution, or lack thereof, that makes her get a bit more involved. She tries to help cook and Red is more than happy to teach her, he's patient and knowledgeable while letting her make suggestions which sometimes prove to be helpful and sometimes prove to be amusing. Over time they develop some synchronicity and indulge in a fair bit of light hearted banter. More often than not she insists on washing up... It's the least she can do and it feels nice to do something for him when he's been so intent on caring for her. Red's long given up debating the necessity of the action with her.

On nights when they cook and she cleans up Liz often returns to whatever sitting room they are in to find him with a book; black rimmed glasses on, tie undone and cast aside, feet up and drink close at hand. She'll join him for a drink, usually reading something he's suggested or simply left out for her. There are some nights when the reality of her fake marriage, dangerous job and muddled existence seems to fade away and all they have is this quiet togetherness. There are no half truths, there is no lying by omission, because there is only them and when it's stripped bare there is nothing else that matters and nothing to hide. She thinks she could get used to it, then she realises that she already has.

Many nights later they are reaching the precipice. There is a new beginning unseen in the distance. They are rushing towards the future and only when they look back will they see the signs.

It's a normal evening. As normal as it gets for the FBI's fourth most wanted criminal and his chosen Federal contact. They've cooked, they've laughed and they've eaten, sometimes in companionable silence but often in more comfortable conversation. There's no longer awkwardness, their familiarity having grown but not having brought any of the contempt that sometimes likes to keep it company. Considering the contempt that's already behind them it hardly seems necessary.

Liz washes up, she has a melody in her head but she can't quite grasp the lyrics. All the same it keeps her entertained as she washes the plates, the cutlery and the pans that produced tonight's indulgent meal. She takes her time wiping the surfaces, cleaning the stove, setting right the glasses she is returning to the cupboard. For all she knows it will be them who next return to this house, who next benefit from her attention to detail.

When she's finished she smiles at the empty room, before switching off the light. Liz halts in her stride when she sees Red across the open plan landscape of their temporary home. The glasses are there. The tie is gone. He has a book in hand. But tonight she's caught him. It seems like such an insignificant but strangely vital moment. It's so unusual that it immediately prompts a wide, tender smile from Liz. Red's eyes are closed. He has all the makings of a man engaged in a text but he isn't. He's drifted like he's never allowed himself to do before and it makes her feel joyous though she couldn't begin to explain why.

It's as if he feels her there, feels her eyes on him or her emotion in the air. Though his eyes don't snap open she knows suddenly that he is staring back. Moments pass and then he says it... "Lizzie".

She smiles wider and though it's not a question, though it's not a demand, her name seems to compel a response. And before she can think any better of it she says the words that are on her lips. "I love living with you."

He doesn't move, his expression remains neutral and he doesn't respond. The story is told in his eyes. He is appraising her, he's thinking, measuring and calculating and the spell is broken. She's taken him by surprise. This delay, that to her encompasses a life time is startlingly brief. Quickly she begins to feel foolish for her little slip. _She couldn't just say like? _No. _Why couldn't she just have said like?_ Now it sounds borderline declaration and a little too sentimental. He tilts his head and she blurts out, "I'm going upstairs for a bit." It's the first time she's shied away from him.

He didn't respond to her because he was sure he was dreaming. That her appearance at the door and the words she spoke were nothing but an apparition, his imagination gone wild.

Red sits as darkness gathers on darkness and further on until the night yields to the dawn. He's thought about going to her but the more time that passes the more futile his words sound in his head. What could he say? I feel the same. I've been meaning to tell you those very words. I can't remember what life was like before this, before you. He can't drag out such redundant clichés that he knows she'll ignore. No matter how true they are. For a man who is never normally short of a smart quip or elegant anecdote he finds himself silenced. What does this all really amount to in the grand scheme of things? How can he sum it up for her? How can it all possibly be verbalised, be spoken aloud? I love you... He says into the retreating darkness, answering his own question.

Liz sleeps in fits. At first she wakes to shame that she can't reconcile her rational self with. She chastises herself for such self indulgent thoughts; God knows they've got more going on that she could be worrying about. And as dawn approaches she forces it away. She hasn't said anything she hasn't meant and she won't be sorry she said it. If this time has taught them nothing else then it should have taught them that such small truths should be shared.

When she comes down stairs Red is already at the breakfast table. He's about to speak about her words, about to stave off any awkwardness between them but Liz breezes in and fills the air with imitated easy conversation and he lets her have it. He lets her pretend that the truth that she shared, the one that he's cherished since he heard it, simply does not exist. And in the denial it vanishes from the air, from her conscious memory. For it to be true it must surely be acknowledged by one or both of them and though it's not it continues to exist in him. He holds it, knowing what could be if this small moment, this small truth is nurtured.

Life returns to normal. Or life returns to what it was before her slip, and though that could never be described as normal, it is at least familiar. Though it's not highly unusual a business meeting comes up that will take Red out of town most of the next day. Liz thinks how to fill her time and mindful of how he takes care of her she decided to cook him a meal. That night she searches online for recipes and compiles a shopping list so extensive she's sure she could open her own restaurant.

The next morning Liz is up almost as soon as Red leaves. She dresses and heads to the market to collect the ingredients. She's decided to cook lasagne and steamed vegetables, ambitiously planning to make it all from scratch. Though Liz would readily acknowledge that she's no domestic goddess she has learned a few things from Red and she has the whole day.

She returns and gets to work on the early prep. When the first batch of pasta sheets doesn't work out she thinks it's still fine. She bins the failed attempt, cleans up and watches a couple of YouTube tutorials before starting again. When the second batch is still well below par she considers using the pre made sheets she purchased. But then she thinks about what she wants the meal to say. And she doesn't want it to say, 'thanks for everything, here's some store bought lasagne.'

However, things look up and on the next attempt and following a much more thorough reading of the recipe she has exactly what she needs. Liz tidies and decides to stop for lunch and to revel a little in her success ... No one has to know about all the effort that's gone in before now.

Following lunch Liz takes a break from food preparation to set the table. She wants it to be intimate without being romantic. She searches through cupboards until she finds linens and candle sticks that will hopefully work. With all that done she is a little behind schedule but she decides to have a glass of wine to help her relax and to try to get the rest right first time. Then hopefully she will still have enough time to change before Dembe calls her to let her know they are on their way back from the airport.

But when she next looks up from cooking the pasta, browning and seasoning the beef it is well into the afternoon and she hasn't even started on the cheese sauce, for which she has no store bought alternative. Timing has always been the issue in her cooking.

When Liz is finally ready to assemble everything she knows she's running out of time. She does her best to keep it neat, to leave enough for each layer. When it's done she stops to take it in. All things considered it doesn't look too bad. But when you have to start considering all things then it's fair to say standards have slipped. She washes and prepares the vegetables and cleans the kitchen. Liz knows a professional could achieve what she has in a fraction of the time but she's proud, if a little exhausted.

Dembe calls so she pops the lasagne in the oven, places the veg by the steamer so it's ready to go and finds the matches for the candles. Then she thinks she'll just sit for a minute, just finish the wine she poured all those hours ago and then she'll have time for a quick shower. She won't have time for makeup but that's ok, this isn't a date, Red won't mind.

When Red enters the door he's met by the smell of delicious home cooked food and the sight of Liz napping on the sofa. He quietly walks to the kitchen, checking the meal and turning off the oven. Then he slowly walks over to where she's resting. He takes in the sight of her, dishevelled hair, activity induced flush colouring her cheeks and flour dusted clothing. Beautiful, he thinks.

He squats down in front of her, "Lizzie." To which he gets no response, "Lizzie sweetheart".

Her eyelids flutter, "Red?"

"Hey" he replies.

"Oh no, when did you get here? I'm cooking" she says as she sleepily looks around.

"It smells delicious. But perhaps you might enjoying it more after a longer rest" he says helping her to her feet.

"I think you're right. I just... I got up so early and ..." She trails off as he leads her by the hand out of the room and up the stairs.

At the door to her bedroom they both stop. "I feel like I've spoiled this. I wanted us to share it" she tries to explain her plan for the day.

"It's not spoiled, I turned it off and it will keep until you're ready" he tells her, squeezing her hand lightly.

"I just wanted to say thank you" Liz goes on, rambling, her sleepy state still calling the shots.

"And you have. I don't think I've come home to a home cooked meal in 20 years" he tells her leaning closer, smiling and resting his hand along her jaw while using his thumb to brush some flour from the cheek bone.

Then suddenly she is awake. Her eyes wide in surprise at how close he is and the feel of his fingers as they touch her skin. He feels it too. One moment he's putting her to bed and the next minute his whole body wants to take her to bed. The air is thick with the sexual tension that's been hovering but largely ignored by them. Red slowly leans further in, closing the distance between them and using the hand still resting on her jaw to lift her face until their lips meet. It's slow, it's sensual, it's hot, it's all closed eyes and soft sounds but it's also over quicker than he'd want. She suddenly steps back, looking surprised. Her eyes sweep away from him and she takes a deep breath before opening the door and disappearing into her bedroom. Damn it, he thinks, leaning on the door frame. He waits for a moment but hears no sound from within so he soundlessly steps away. He returns to the kitchen to pour a drink and think about what just happened before he can forget the taste and feel of her.

Liz sits on the edge of the bed, residual sleepiness and disbelief holding her still like she's in some kind of suspended animation. That can't have just happened. But it did and she was a more than willing participant. Oh god! She sits, she marvels, she flusters and decides to do what she did the other week when she'd said what she did about living with him. When did she get so cowardly? No, it's not cowardly, it's practical. If he doesn't mention it then she'll just gloss over what happened. She doesn't want to mess with a good thing and living with him has been a good thing. For both of them. No more rocking the boat she thinks before heading for a shower.

Downstairs Red hears her moving about, hears the shower run and sets the oven on low so the meal she has prepared is ready when she comes down. He's served the meal and poured them both wine when she silently makes her way into the room.

"Hey" she says softly.

"Perfect timing Lizzie" Red says pulling her chair out. She barely hesitates before walking over and taking the offered seat.

"Thanks" she says without making eye contact but she's beginning to feel more at ease already.

"Thank you Lizzie. This looks and smells delicious." He says smiling at her warmly and raising his glass.

They soon fall into conversation, discussing the meal and their day apart. When they've finished eating he insists on cleaning up but she follows him to the kitchen, leaning on the counter close to him and drinking her wine.

"How was your meeting?" Liz asks him. Red just nods his head then shakes it, a rueful smile on his face, "I think your day was much more productive than mine". Liz lets a light-hearted laugh escapes, if his business went anything like her whole day cooking extravaganza then they should both have just stayed home she thinks.

Red doesn't stop what he's doing but he looks up at her, "Can we talk about earlier?"

"No" she swiftly replies, focusing on the glass in her hand.

"So you're ok with it?" He asks. When she doesn't respond he pushes it, because sometimes he can't seem to help it. "You're happy?" He says just throwing it out there and hoping to provoke a response.

"Happy not to talk about it, yes!" Liz says though she's a little flustered now.

"We can't go on not talking about everything of significance that happens between us Lizzie." Red tells her, wiping his hands and turning his body to face her.

"Can't we?" She tries but she knows he's right. He's always right. This man who is both good and bad. Her happiness and such sadness. So harsh yet so incredibly gentle. The darkness but also the light that exists in her life. It should be hard to reconcile these things, to look at so many facets and see one man but it isn't. She has learned to see him while they've lived together, to see who he is and to love him.

"Well we could but since I'd like to revisit what happened I feel denial would be counterproductive." He says stepping closer to her.

"Revisit?" She says as she exhales all the oxygen from her body. At the same time Red takes the glass from her hand and places it behind her on the counter top.

"Mhm" Red says as he leans in to kiss her again. She tilts her head and he lifts his hand to cup her face, the tips of his fingers caressing the hair at the nape of her neck. He steps closer, placing his other hand on her hip, his body gently resting on hers, pushing her against the edge of the work surface. His heat is radiating into her, his strong masculine presence overwhelming her urge to panic, to wonder what she's doing. His lips are soft, his movements gentle. But he's leading this kiss and though she's no wallflower she's letting him.

He stops for a moment to regard her, his eyes meeting hers as he relishes the turn his day has taken. He thinks it's not his place to want her. Nor any man whose lived a thousand dreadful moments as he has. Yet he told her there would be redemption through her, and this moment feels as glorious as he thought it would. Red can't stop himself wrapping Liz in his arms, breathing her in, kissing her hair. His actions speak of the want he's hidden, the need he's suppressed. He's telling her it all without words because he wants her to know.

But he's still Raymond Reddington and even in the heat of the moment he's still got sass, "I think it would be healthier and certainly a lot more mutually beneficial if we stopped denying what's happening between us." Liz laughs against him. It's breathy and light, there's no worry there, no regret.

"If this is all because of that lasagne, then I hate to break it to you, I'm not making it again. I couldn't" she tries to sound disbelieving but she only sounds amused.

He pulls back and smiles, "lasagne?" He asks with just the right teasing tone.

"Mutually beneficial?" She manages to whisper before he leans in to kiss her again.

* * *

The End

Of this one shot

Reviews very welcome! xx


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